


Lost and Found

by GraduateGraduate



Series: Worlds Collide [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha!Bucky, Alpha!Natasha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst, Beta!Clint, Biting, Blood, Choking, Gun Violence, Knotting, Loss, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Memory Loss, Omega!Steve, Oral Sex, Rimming, Rutting, Scent Marking, Scenting, Shower Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4634931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraduateGraduate/pseuds/GraduateGraduate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Omega!Steve has adjusted to life in the 21st century without his mate, Alpha!Bucky.  But his life is turned upside down when a certain assassin comes for him.</p><p>This fic somewhat follows WS plot, it somewhat ventures out to its own au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Beautiful Weirdos!
> 
> If you've stumbled upon this fic and you're like "Woah, what is ABO? I don't understand!", I recommend you read [this summary](http://sebastiananigans.tumblr.com/post/127905929969/so-what-really-is-abo-i-want-to-give-them-a-try) I've written on what ABO is and why I love it (and which aspects of it I don't like and stay the frickityfrack away from).
> 
> If you've heard scary things about ABO, I _beg_ (because I'm an omega at heart) you to consider giving this one a chance.
> 
> This is Part 1 of the Worlds Collide Series. I've started writing Part 2 and have plans for Part 3. I hope you enjoy it! I live on your kudos and comments and thank all of you who do read it for spending your time with my work.
> 
> Much love,  
> ~[GG](http://graduategraduate.tumblr.com)

Steve will never forget the day Bucky received his orders.  Steve already does anything his alpha asks of him, but just looking at Bucky in that muted green uniform makes his inner omega beg to be bossed around.

“We have a few hours before the Stark convention,” Bucky calls from the couch.  He’s got his feet up on the coffee table as he flips through today’s newspaper.  His eyes flick up from the paper as Steve comes out of his bedroom, buttoning the last buttons on his shirt and starting to knot his tie.  “C’mere.”  He folds the newspaper and sets it aside.  “Let me do that for you.  You never quite get it straight.”

“I can tie my own tie, Bucky,” Steve replies, but he’s quick to join Bucky on the couch anyway.

Steve breathes Bucky in as he knots his tie.  His scent is a mixture of deep earthy tones: moist dirt after days of dry heat, rich black coffee, and the sweetness of tobacco.  It’s layered with the airiness of crisp, fresh linen.  When his alpha gets riled up his scent takes on a sharp edge as the coffee scent becomes more bitter than sweet, but mostly it’s soft and warm and Bucky smells like protection and home.

Bucky tightens the tie in place, and tilts Steve’s chin up with two fingers.  “I don’t _really_ know why we bothered with the tie.”  The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles.  “Like I said, we have a few hours to kill.”

Bucky grazes his teeth gently across the skin of Steve’s neck as he mock-bites him.  He’s got a predatory look in his eye as he leans into Steve’s space, forcing him onto his back. 

Steve has a loose hold on Bucky’s tie, is pawing at his buttons, and wants to say _you look amazing in that uniform but it would look even better on the floor_. He can’t remember his mouth moving or the words falling out of it, but they must have because Bucky’s eyebrow shoots up at his omega’s bold request, and next thing he knows there’s a trail of clothes from the couch to the bed where Bucky tosses him and quickly climbs on top.

Bucky showers Steve’s little body in kisses, working his way from his collarbone to his navel, careful to not leave any bruises.  It’s not an easy task; Steve bruises easier than a ripe peach, but it’s necessary. Steve won’t stop going to recruitment stations and attempting to enlist, and any bruises would lead to prodding jokes about his alpha girlfriend being a little too rough with him (she obviously wears the pants in their relationship) and Steve is a _terrible_ liar. 

Bucky dips his tongue into Steve’s bellybutton as he gently pushes his legs apart to settle between them. He takes Steve’s hardening cock into his mouth, and as he does Steve feels a wave of slick release from him. Bucky groans as the scent hits him, sending vibrations up Steve’s cock and deep into his belly where his desire starts to build.  Bucky sucks on Steve’s tip, tongue teasing at his frenulum, before releasing him and sitting back on his ankles.

“Turn over, baby, I wanna see you.”

Steve scrambles to his knees, presenting himself to his alpha, wiggling his hips a little and looking over his left shoulder to see if Bucky’s laughing at him as he always does.

Bucky’s eyes light up as he chuckles, “God, I’m gonna miss this view.”

Steve smiles back at him before bracing his forehead against his pillow as Bucky firmly pushes his cheeks apart and laps up the slick dripping between them.  Steve gasps as Bucky’s tongue flicks over his entrance. 

Bucky moans, “Have I told you how good you taste?” 

He has, but Steve always likes to hear Bucky describe it anyway.  “Mmm? What do I taste like, Buck?”

Bucky tells him between languid licks, “You taste like summer and warm spices,” he dives back in, “You taste like fireworks on a warm night.”  He adds a finger in with his tongue, “You taste like apple pie and cinnamon.” He adds a second finger and places gentle kisses on his cheeks, “You’re the best damn thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Steve is blushing from head to toe. He groans into the pillow as Bucky grazes his prostate before manhandling him onto his back.  He pauses to put a condom on even though Steve’s not in his heat, dipping his fingers into Steve’s slick and using it to lube himself up. Bucky pushes a third finger into him, making sure he's properly stretched open before lining himself up with Steve’s hole and slowly sinking into him. 

Steve gasps as Bucky fills him up. Bucky always stretches him carefully, but it never seems to fully prepare his little body for the girth of Bucky’s cock.  Bucky presses kisses into Steve’s neck and shoulders as he bottoms out.  He waits patiently for Steve’s pulse to return closer to its normal rate before he slowly draws out of him and pushes back in. 

Steve’s desire is twisting and building in his stomach.  “Faster, Buck.” He tries to roll his hips up to meet Bucky’s thrusts, but Bucky chuckles low in the back of his throat and presses Steve’s hips gently back into the mattress with firm hands.

“What’s the rush, love?” Bucky covers Steve’s body with his own, changing the angle enough that every thrust now stimulates Steve’s prostate, sending electric sensations up and down his spine. Steve inhales Bucky’s scent, his sharp smell of bitter coffee complementing his sweetness of cigarettes and the forest floor.  Bucky grazes his teeth against Steve’s neck, adding to the sensations running the length of his body. Steve’s cock is rubbing between them, and he fists the sheets as the friction becomes almost too much. Bucky speeds up the tiniest bit, hammering his prostate hard while pressing his dick between their stomachs, and Steve comes hot between them as he cries out, toes curled and fists clenched.

Bucky presses a chaste kiss to Steve’s lips, smiling down at him, giving him a moment to catch his breath.

“I love you, Bucky.” Steve runs a hand through Bucky’s hair and pulls him down for another kiss. 

“And I love you, Stevie. Now back on your knees.”

Steve’s torn between ignoring the demand to enjoy the afterglow, and obeying.  He rolls himself over as quickly as he can manage, but it still takes him a full thirty seconds to get to his stomach, knees under him, hips in the air.

Bucky mounts him and sinks his length back in.  “You okay?”

Steve nods and grunts back in reply. Bucky thrusts into him, slowly at first, but picking up speed.  As Bucky’s knot begins to form, Steve instinctively tilts his head to the left, baring as much of his neck to his alpha as he can.  Bucky grabs a handful of Steve’s hair in his left hand, supporting himself with his right as he pushes deep and hard into Steve’s hot, slick hole. 

Bucky’s knot catches on Steve’s entrance, making Steve cry out.  “Please mark me, Buck.”  Steve’s voice is as forceful as he can make it between moans and whimpers.  “I want you to mark me.” 

“You know I can’t do that,” Bucky grunts back between thrusts.  “It’d put you in danger.”

He’s pounding into Steve _hard_.  Every fiber of his body is screaming at him to sink his sharp canines into the soft bit of flesh where Steve’s neck meets his shoulder. And the way he’s showing it off so prettily for him makes it nearly impossible to resist.

Bucky pushes his knot deep into Steve. He pulls Steve’s hair as he bites down hard on his own forearm while he comes, knotting them together.

He covers Steve with his body, dropping his left hand to the mattress to help support his weight so he doesn’t crush Steve beneath him.  Steve licks the fresh wounds on Bucky’s left forearm and savors the familiar metal tang of his blood.  He marvels at how consistent Bucky is; the two fresh puncture wounds aligned perfectly on top of the two scars Steve knows were there before, and will be again in a few weeks.

Bucky nuzzles his face into Steve’s neck, licking and nibbling at the space he wanted to mark. He carefully rolls the two of them onto their sides, Steve’s small body perfectly encompassed by his own. He rubs his right hand up and down Steve’s arm a few times before wrapping both arms around him and pressing loving kisses into the back of his neck.

Steve smiles and presses his back into Bucky’s chest, enjoying the fullness of his knot, and the strong warmth of his arms around him.  And then suddenly he’s empty.  His back is cold. He turns in bed, frantic to see where Bucky’s gone, but he’s surrounded by snow-covered mountains and Bucky is falling, clawing at the sky, his grey eyes full of fear.

Steve wakes up panting in a cold sweat, his left arm clenched painfully between his own teeth.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve scrubs his hands down his face and checks to see that the other side of his bed is truly empty. This is the third time in as many days that his subconscious has decided to replay one of his favorite memories tainted by what is definitively his least favorite.  He doesn’t know how many more times he can stomach having that dream. It’s too much. It always feels too real.

Steve throws the sheets aside and swings his feet over the side of his bed.  He checks to see if he actually produced any slick in his sleep, but the sheets are dry.  He hasn’t produced slick in a long time.  Not since he was thawed in 2011.  Possibly not even since Bucky died.

At the thought of Bucky, Steve touches a hand to the right side of his neck and rubs the space Bucky never marked. Bucky had always been terrified that his wide-set canines would out Steve.  Homophobia had run rampant in the ‘40s, even more so in the army. It actually wasn’t until much more recently that it had become socially acceptable for male couples to be honest about their relationships in public together, the omega’s marked neck clearly visible.

Natasha keeps trying to set him up with women she knows, but Steve hasn’t even thought about taking a new mate since he was thawed.  After Bucky died, there had been one female alpha who had shown interest in him. She’d been a great friend to him and he owed her much.  If they’d had more time, maybe something would have developed with Agent Carter. But he’d been with Bucky when he met her, and hadn’t finished mourning Bucky before he’d crashed the Hydra bomber into the Arctic.  By the time he’d woken up, Peggy had lived a full life and grown old without him. Sometimes he laughed at how cruel fate was.  Mostly he avoided thinking about it.

Steve’s scent had since faded entirely.  People tended to assume he was an unpresented, possibly because of the serum, and he never bothered to correct them.  He wasn’t interested in finding a new mate.  Even if he had the time, no one could replace Bucky.

Steve pulls himself out of his thoughts to find himself standing in his boxers in his kitchen. He pours himself a glass of tap water and turns to lean against the counter, the granite cold against his bare back, as he sips the cold water in the dark.  A chill runs down his spine and the hair on the back of his neck prickles as it stands on end.  He should probably have thrown a shirt on before venturing into his cold kitchen. Steve takes in his sparse apartment. His shield is sitting next to some unopened bills on the island.  He doesn’t ever entertain, so he has no need for a dining room table. There’s a couch, TV and coffee table across from the kitchen.  The only personal effects are his record player and records.  The small apartment has large windows and a sliding glass door that lets out to a small balcony which looks out on the street. It’s not an amazing view; his sixth floor apartment mostly looks into the apartments across the street, or it would if their curtains weren’t drawn tight.  Steve likes the natural light and leaves his open for the most part.  It’s still dark out, the mid-February night clear and cold.  He runs a hand through his hair, then tips his head back, emptying the glass. He’s about to set it aside and crawl back into bed when the light hitting his shield shifts just slightly. Steve hears the sharp crack of a gunshot, and the glass he’s holding shatters in his hand.

Steve’s blood runs cold. He drops behind the protection of the island, reaching up to grab his shield.  How long has there been someone in the apartment with him? He hears footsteps approach from his right. Steve makes himself small behind his shield, blocking as much of his body with it as he can.  His assailant fires a full mag of bullets at him. The shield absorbs most of the vibrations, the slugs dropping at Steve’s feet.  He scents the air, trying to figure out anything he can about his attacker. He smells gunpowder and a sharp metal smell and leather.  Nothing helpful. He hears the gun tossed aside. There’s an ominous click as a second gun is readied.

Steve can see the outline of his attacker reflected in the fridge.  His face is hidden by a black mask.  Adrenaline surges through Steve’s body.  He throws his shield at the dark form.  It arcs and knocks the weapon out of his hands.  Steve tucks and rolls to catch his shield when it rebounds. He stands and strikes the shield into the center of the man’s chest.  His assailant is knocked back a step.  Only a step.  Steve doesn’t understand what’s happening.  This man is _strong_.  He reaches for another gun.  Steve lands a kick in his chest, swinging the shield to knock the gun out of his hand.  His assailant swings his left arm.  There’s a loud clang of metal on metal, Steve’s shield is swatted out of his hands. He has a _metal arm?!_   Steve punches his attacker in the face.  It knocks him back another step.  Next thing he knows, there’s a gun in the man’s left hand and a knife in his right. Steve wishes he had his shield in his hands.  He expects the gun to be fired at his head.  But instead the left arm swings at him.  Steve barely avoids being pistol-whipped across the face.  There’s searing pain in his ribs.  He failed to see the knife being swung, but it cut into him just enough to draw blood.

Steve’s mind races. He doesn’t know what to think. He should have been able to take this guy down by now.  Steve takes advantage of how close his attacker still is after slashing him with the knife. Steve charges him, running him into the wall.  The gun slips and falls to the floor.  Steve presses his right forearm into his assailant’s throat and goes for the knife in the man’s right hand.  He presses his forearm harder, raising his attacker’s chin, making it more difficult for him to breathe. He catches a glimpse of the man’s eyes. Is he _enjoying_ himself?!  There’s a crazed look in his eyes, like this is a game to him.  Steve manages to twist the knife away.  It falls to the floor with a clatter.

“Who the fuck are you?” Steve eases up his pressure on his throat just enough to let him speak.  He doesn’t respond.  Just stares at him with those crazed grey eyes from behind his long hair and mask.

Steve tears off the mask. He can’t believe what he sees. He’s so shocked he takes a full step back.He wonders if he’s actually still dreaming because he swears he knows the man whose grey eyes are glaring back at him from behind that long dark hair.

“ _Bucky?_ ” Steve is incredulous.

“Who the hell is _Bucky_?”

But Steve sees the man’s eyes change. There’s a flash of confusion, of pain. Steve scents the air again. It’s all gunpowder and that acrid smell of brakes locking up.  Not a trace of Bucky’s rich earthy scents.

And then the man’s eyes change again. They harden, and Steve’s too stunned to even try to block the backhand.  He tastes the sharp copper of blood and his knees buckle.  There’s a crash of glass across the apartment, and when Steve looks up, his assailant is gone.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Steve fumbles to his feet as quickly as he can manage.  He instinctively presses two fingers to the cut along his ribs when it stings as he stands and rushes to the broken window.  He stares out at the 6-story drop, but there’s no sign of his attacker. He’d looked so much like Bucky. But how could it be? He’d watched Bucky fall from the train over 70 years ago.  There’s no way anyone could have survived that fall.  And even if he had, Bucky would be old and frail by now.  Steve tries to blink Bucky’s eyes from his thoughts and focus on the situation at hand. 

Someone had attacked him in his apartment in the middle of the night.  He is still bleeding slowly from a knife wound.  Steve’s not too concerned about the injury; it will heal shortly, but it could still use a few stitches to aid the process.  He certainly can’t stay here though, he needs to lie low somewhere.

Steve grabs a pre-packed duffel out from under his bed and calls Natasha while he throws clothes on.

“Hello?” A man asks.

“Clint?  Where’s Natasha?”  Steve tucks his phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he pulls on pants.

“Sleeping.  Why are you calling at 3 in the morning?” 

“I just had an uninvited visitor. I need somewhere to lie low while I figure out what’s going on.  I don’t have anywhere else to go.  Can I stay there?”  
  
“Yeah, of course, Steve.”  Clint’s voice is warm.  If he’s annoyed at being woken in the middle of the night, he doesn’t show it.  
  
“Thanks.  I’ll be there in twenty.”

Steve slips into his jacket, grabs his shield from the wreckage in the kitchen, and heads to the underground to get his bike.

***

Steve has raised his hand to knock on the front door, but it opens before he can make contact with it. Clint lets him in, shutting the door quickly behind him and securing the bolts.

“Hey, man.  Thanks.”

“Of course.  The spare bedroom is ready for you.  Anything you need?”  
  
“Uh… is Nat still sleeping?”  Steve winces as he works himself out of his jacket.  There’s a trail of blood on his otherwise clean shirt that betrays his wound.  “I could use a few stitches.”

“I’ll get her. The supplies are in the en suite.” 

Steve carries his bag through the small townhouse and drops it on the floor of the master bedroom. Clint said spare room, but Steve knows they prefer to sleep in the loft, leaving the only actual bedroom available. He goes into the en suite and opens the medicine cabinet, looking for anything that resembles a sewing kit. He finds the rubbing alcohol, and starts digging through the drawers under the sink.  He finally finds everything he’s looking for and heads back out to the kitchen.

He can hear Clint and Nat arguing quietly upstairs.  He might not have noticed if he couldn’t smell Nat’s annoyance.  She usually smells of vodka, oranges, a punch of cinnamon, and a hint of gunpowder, but the flare of the gunpowder and addition of pungent ginger means she could be in a better mood.  (He can’t really blame her, having barged in in the middle of the night.)

“What do you mean Steve’s here. You know how I feel about visitors.”  
  
“Yeah, Nat, and that’s why you have your own place that no one else knows the location of.  Wait. Are you saying if you’d answered your phone, you would have turned him away?!  He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, Nat!”  
  
“Of course not!  I just would have liked to have been consulted.”  Nat doesn’t sound as irritated as she smells.

By the time they make it to the kitchen, Steve has decided to pretend he couldn’t hear them. Nat’s scent has mellowed slightly. The ginger is still present, but the gunpowder has returned to its usual baseline.  
  
“Hey Nat.  Sorry for waking you up in the middle of the night.”  
  
“I hear you need stitches.  Coffee?” Nat heads straight for the coffee machine.  She spoons in a generous amount before filling the reservoir and setting it to brew.  
  
“Nah, I’m okay, thanks.  Just the stitches for me.”  
  
“Alright, let’s take a look at it.  Lose the shirt.”

“She this bossy with you, Clint?” Steve raises his eyebrow jokingly to Clint who just smiles and shakes his head knowingly before jumping up to sit on the counter next to the coffee maker.  Steve winces as he pulls the shirt away from the cut and works it up and over his head.

Nat dabs the wound clean with rubbing alcohol before pouring herself a mug of caffeine. “You sure you don’t want some?”  
  
“If you insist.  Just a bit.”  
  
She pours Steve a full mug anyway and adds the moderate helping of cream and sugar she knows he takes.  She takes a deep sip from her mug of black coffee as she hands him his sweetened mixture. He takes the mug in both hands and inhales deeply.  
  
“That’s the stuff,” Nat sighs as she sets her mug aside to prep her suture.  She takes another large gulp before getting started.  “How’d you get this, anyway?”

Steve doesn’t answer. He’s too busy staring into his mug, his eyes wide, mouth slack.  
  
Nat pauses mid-stitch, “Ghost in your coffee, Steve?”  
  
Steve shakes his head as his brows furrow together. He takes a sip of the coffee to get Nat off his back, but the sweet taste of Bucky on his tongue is like a punch to the gut that hurts far worse than the needle sliding through his skin.  
  
Nat tries again.  “How’d you get this cut, Steve?”  
  
Steve’s voice is low and steady, “I got up for a glass of water and there was someone waiting for me.  He didn’t manage to shoot me, but he did get the blade past me.  Guy had a metal arm.”  He grits his teeth as Nat pulls the thread taut to knot it off.  
  
“Any idea who it was?” Clint asks from the counter.  
  
Steve hesitates before shaking his head.  But Nat’s hands are shaking.  There’s a sudden scent of fresh flames in the room. She’s staring into space, brows furrowed, mouth parted.  The scissors she’s holding are dangerously close to slicing him open afresh.  
  
“Whoa there, doctor.  You alright?” Steve takes the scissors from her and trims off the extra thread himself before returning his attention to Natasha. “Nat, what is it?” He scents the air. Her usual sweet notes of cinnamon and orange have been totally smothered by the burning.  
  
When Nat finally finds her voice, it’s a hushed whisper. “The Winter Soldier.”

“The assassin who shot that nuclear engineer _through_ you?” Clint’s voice has a hint of surprise in it.  “Wasn’t that in Iran?”  Steve had almost forgotten Clint was in the room with them.  
  
“That’s the one.  Bye bye bikinis.”  
  
“Yeah,” Clint scoffs, “You look terrible in them.”

“He’s a ghost story. I wouldn’t believe he existed if I hadn’t seen him with my own eyes.”  Steve is startled by the pure fear he can see in Nat’s eyes and smell on her skin. He’s never seen her this scared before. “He’s credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”

“How is that even possible?”  
  
“I don’t know.  No one knows. Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists.”  She wraps her hands around her mug of coffee to steady them.  “But he does.  And he’s good with a gun,” her eyes dart down to the fresh stiches, “and even better with a knife.”  
  
“Who’s trying so hard to kill you that they’d send an assassin after you?” Clint takes a casual sip from his coffee like they aren’t discussing who might want Steve dead.  
  
“Does it really matter?”  Steve slips his shirt back on.  “Someone is always trying to kill us.”  
  
Clint laughs into his mug.  “Fair. Should we all try to get some sleep and figure this out in the morning then?”  He hops off the counter.  
  
Nat gives a single, curt nod and takes a last sip of her coffee before heading up to the loft with Clint.

Steve packs up the first aid stuff and returns it to the medicine cabinet.  He splashes cool water on his face and brushes his teeth before putting a fresh shirt on, kicking his jeans off, and climbing into bed. He stares at the ceiling trying to ignore the bitter bite of coffee in the back of his throat but Bucky’s grey eyes keep swimming into view.  Clamping his eyes shut just brings them into closer focus.  After an hour of what would be tossing and turning if he weren’t trying to not disturb his stitches, he surrenders himself to a sleepless night.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Steve wakes up, blinking sunshine and sleep out of his eyes.  He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but as the scent of hot coffee wafts from the fresh mug on the bedside table, his dreams come back to him.  They were a new variation on the usual: when he turned to see where Bucky had gone and watched him fall, Bucky fired shots back up at him.  
  
Steve pours the coffee down the drain before inspecting his cut in the mirror.  It’s already healed over. Only a thin white line remains, but even that will fade in a few days.  He gently removes the stitches himself before going out to the kitchen.  
  
Clint is bustling around in the kitchen.  He’s got eggs going on the stove and there’s a pile of toast he’s adding to as the toaster pops.  He spots Steve and his empty mug, “You need a refill there, Cap?”

Steve forces a smile, attempting to appear more rested and caffeinated than he is.  “No thanks, Clint.  One mug is enough for me this morning.”

Natasha comes in, smelling like she slept off most of the fear.  There’s still a faint scent of smoldering ashes in the air around her, but she mostly exudes sweet oranges and spice this morning.  She tops up her mug, wiping sleep from her eyes. “What’s for breakfast?  You throw together an apple pie already this morning?”  She presses a soft kiss to Clint’s cheek.  
  
He laughs, “When was the last time I made an apple pie, Nat? Just eggs and toast this morning. You know if you want baked goods you have to put a request in.”  
  
Nat stops in her tracks.  “If you’re not baking pie in here, what smells like-” she freezes and looks at Steve, scenting the air.  “Seriously, Steve?  You’re presenting?  For the first time?  In your nineties?  In my goddamn kitchen?”  
  
Steve can feel his blush spreading down his neck.

Clint looks up from the eggs, “Steve’s presenting?  Why can’t I smell him?”

Natasha rolls her eyes, “Because you can smell about as well as you can hear, Clint.  Steve, do I need to go buy you a knot and find somewhere else to be for a week?”  
  
Steve shakes his head but won’t meet her gaze.  “No, that won’t be necessary.  I presented back in the ‘30s.  My scent faded when I was frozen.  I didn’t expect it would ever return.  I’m not in heat, I just have some of my scent back, apparently...”  
  
Natasha breathes a heavy sigh of relief.  “Alright.  Then let’s eat and try to decide what our next move is.  I don’t particularly feel like being a sitting duck until your new friend comes looking for you here.”  
  
“No, me neither,” Steve agrees as he puts out three plates for Clint to spoon eggs onto.  
  
They sit down with the pile of toast between them and eat mostly in silence until there’s nothing but crumbs left.  As Natasha pours herself a third mug of coffee all three of their cells go off in unison.  They exchange quick glances before checking their texts.

Natasha’s scent of smoldering ashes flares back to flame for a moment again before she recovers herself. Steve recognizes the strong cold steel scent that’s covered all her usual undertones to mean the text that came in is work-related.

He looks down at his phone. The text is from a blocked number.

SHIELD IS COMPROMISED. TRUST NO ONE.  –FT.  
  
“Shit,” Steve mutters under his breath.

Clint glares at Steve with narrowed eyes, gears working as Steve does the same to Natasha.

“Seriously, boys?” Natasha’s voice is steady and steely but her eyebrow is raised and she has just the beginnings of a smirk on her lips.  “Cut that out, both of you.  Steve, Clint is the only person I would trust with my life.  And obviously you trust me with yours or you wouldn’t be here.  We only have each other, and right now we need to get underground and figure out what’s happening at SHIELD.”

Steve shakes his head slowly and looks at his hands in his lap.  “Right. Sorry.”  
  
Clint stops giving Steve stink eye, but it’s obvious his gears are still turning.  “Alright, usual SHIELD bunkers are out.  So where do we go to get off the grid?”  
  
Nat’s lips twitch into the tiniest of smug smiles.  “My place.”

*** 

“I can’t believe it takes SHIELD having a full-scale crisis for you to show us your place,” Clint sulks in the passenger seat of Nat’s car, his bow and quiver of arrows at his feet.

“I can,” Steve’s voice comes through the car’s radio.  He’s on his bike, a few cars between him and Nat’s black jeep, shield strapped to his back.

“Quit pouting, boys. If I’d shown you my place we wouldn’t have a place to go right now, would we?”  Her eyes never leave the road.  Ever.  It might unnerve Clint if he weren’t entirely used to it.

Clint sighs, “What’s our next move when we arrive?”

“Find out what Fury knows.  Should we bring him in?”  Steve doesn’t know where they should draw the ‘trust no one’ line.

“I’ve already sent him coordinates. He’s on his way.”

The car radio, Clint’s phone and Steve’s headset all ding simultaneously.

“Another mass text?” Steve’s voice betrays a little worry.  “What’s this one say, Clint?”

Clint hesitates long enough that Natasha turns towards him to gauge his reaction.  Clint makes eye contact with her.  Clint’s so surprised to see Nat looking at him instead of where she’s going, it takes him an extra moment to find his voice.

“What’s it say, Clint?” Natasha’s scent flares slightly.

Clint doesn’t break his eye contact with her.  His voice is barely audible, “Foxtrot down.”

Natasha’s eyes widen. “No.”

Steve’s response is a short, “Fuck.”

Steve cursing over the radio snaps Clint back to.  “Shit, Nat! Look out!”

Natasha turns back to the road. The traffic is stopped dead in front of them.  She slams on the brakes, doing her best to not collide with the line of cars.  She pounds the steering wheel with the heel of her hand when the car comes to a stop an inch from the next car’s bumper.  She’s attempting to catch her breath when another vehicle crashes into the back of them.

Steve is barely able to avoid adding his bike to the wreckage, but he maneuvers around it, looking over his shoulder as he passes.  “Clint, talk to me. You guys okay?”

“We will be. You’ve got a bigger problem ahead of you though.”

Steve looks up to see the reason the traffic has come to a crawl.  There’s a bullet-ridden black SUV overturned in the street. And then Steve sees the figure of a man dressed in black.  The glint of silver reflecting off his left arm in the sun is unmistakable and his movements are calculated and mechanical.

The man raises a grenade launcher. Before he can fire it, Steve skids the bike sideways, releasing it at the man as he falls on his back, doing his best to tuck himself on to his shield for protection.  As he skids to a stop he looks up to gauge where the man is.  He’s nowhere to be seen, so Steve runs back towards Natasha and Clint, who are climbing out of their vehicle.  Steve stops in his tracks, arm across his face, as the jeep is blown sky-high.  He lowers his arm and breaks into a run.  Natasha and Clint stumble out of the smoke.

Before he can reach them, the Winter Soldier hits him from the side.  He punches Steve in the gut with his metal hand and pulls out a knife with the other.  Steve leans back in time to avoid the first swipe with the knife.  He swings his shield up and knocks the knife away.  The shield is ripped from his hands and swung at his neck as if to decapitate him.  He ducks, and can hear the shield catch in the metal of a vehicle.  The man kicks him in the chest.  The force of it backs Steve into the side of a van.  The metal hand closes around Steve’s throat.  Steve’s senses sharpen as his adrenaline piques.  He fights the urge to panic as he struggles for breath.  He gropes at the unforgiving hand around his throat with both of his own.  He manages to get enough of a grip on the fist to get a single strangled inhale as his assailant lifts him off the ground against the van.

Steve can’t believe what he smells.  The expected gunpowder and metal is there.  But there’s an unmistakable whiff of coffee and cigarettes underneath.  He can’t think straight.  His head is full of Bucky.  His heart hurts. He can’t tell if it’s from the lack of oxygen or because Bucky obviously doesn’t recognize him.  Bucky.  His Bucky.  He has to get to Bucky.  But his head is foggy, his vision is starting to blur at the edges, and he can’t fight the overwhelming instinct to surrender.  He goes limp, the metal hand still tight round his throat.  He can feel slick starting to leak from him for the first time in seventy years.

The grip around his throat suddenly loosens enough that he can get a full breath.  Steve inhales sharply, his vision returning.  He can see confusion in the grey eyes looking at him. 

“Bucky!  What did they do to you, Buck?” Steve pants as he catches his breath.  He lets go of the hand at his throat and paws at Bucky’s shoulders and arms, hoping desperately that a familiar touch will help Bucky recognize him.

Bucky leans towards him ever so slightly, scenting the air.  Steve doesn’t mean to do it, but he tilts his forehead to meet Buck’s as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.  When they touch, Bucky jolts, his grip on Steve’s throat tightens again and he slams him back hard into the van.

Steve gasps, eyes filling.  He’d let himself hope for a moment that Bucky had remembered him.

There’s a flash of red to Steve’s left. 

“Nat!  No!”  Steve reaches up and yanks the shield out of the van’s door in time to cover Bucky’s right side from gunfire.

Bucky scents the air again, eyes narrowed.  “Who _are_ you?”

A shower of arrows comes down from Steve’s right.  Two catch in the metal arm.  One embeds itself in Bucky’s side.  Steve’s feet touch ground as the hand around his throat releases him.

He brings the shield around to protect Bucky from another shower of arrows, “Clint!  Stop!  Stop!”

He turns back, and Bucky is nowhere to be seen.


	5. Chapter 5

“What the _fuck_ was that, Steve?!” Natasha’s eyes are on fire with rage, her scent hot and smoky to match.  “We fucking _had_ him!”

Clint is quietly retrieving his arrows.  He doesn’t need to be able to smell Natasha’s anger to know to stay out of this one.

Steve is still looking around frantically.  “Where did he _go_?!”

Natasha looks ready to backhand him when he finally addresses her.

“It was _him_ , okay?!”

“I know it was _him_.  That’s why we were trying to take him _out_!  Do you know how much damage the Winter Soldier has caused over the years?!”  
  
“No, Nat!  It was _Bucky_.  I’m sure of it!”  Natasha just stares at him, the anger in her eyes fading to a sympathetic sadness that makes Steve feel indignant.  “I could _smell_ him,” he adds.

“I got us a ride,” Clint breaks in.  He’s sitting in a truck he’d _persuaded_ a man to _lend_ him.  “Maybe we could sort this out somewhere a little safer, guys?”

More sirens are screaming in the distance. The air fills with the sounds of a chopper approaching.  Clint is right. It’s time to go.

***

They drive the stolen truck up the long dirt driveway and park it in front of Natasha’s house.  The place is well hidden from the street.  
  
“Welcome home, boys.”  Nat follows Clint out the driver-side door, eager to stretch her legs after being squished between the guys for the ride.

Steve is relieved to get out of the cramped compartment.  He had spent the entire ride feeling incredibly self-conscious about his scent being noticeable that morning.  He’d kept his window rolled all the way down for the duration of the drive.  He might be being paranoid, but he had also been worried that he was starting to produce massive amounts of slick right there in the car.  He checks the seat behind him before he closes the door, just to be sure he hasn’t leaked. The seat is dry. He exhales a breath of relief. 

He follows Nat and Clint into the kitchen.  Nat’s already measuring ground coffee into a filter and setting it to brew.  Steve opens a few cupboards until he finds the glasses and fills one with water.  He takes a long sip before joining Nat and Clint at the table.  
  
Something’s wrong.  Natasha’s scent of oranges and vodka has been replaced with cold steel again.  Steve meets her gaze.  She looks like she’s going to tell him his dog has died.  
  
“You know that wasn’t Bucky, right?”  Her eyes are big and earnest.  Begging him to understand he’s seeing things.  Smelling things.  
  
“It was though,” Steve reexamines his memories of the run-ins. Bucky’s features had mostly been covered with unfamiliar, long, straggly brown hair.  But his grey eyes had been unmistakable.  And his scent.  Oh god, his scent.  “I didn’t tell you I thought it was Bucky who had attacked me in my apartment.  Even I thought that was crazy.  But I’d bet my _life_ that it was.”

“Well, how do you explain it then?”  She accepts a mug of coffee from Clint with a nod before returning her attention to Steve.  “You said yourself, Bucky died in 1945.”

Steve takes a long gulp of his water, his brow furrowed.  “Zola was experimenting on him when I found him…  What if they did something to him, gave him something.  They were trying to recreate the serum, right?  They did _something_ to him.  But it was Bucky.  He had his eyes.  And I’d know his smell anywhere.” Steve looks down at his hands, “I never thought I’d smell him again…”

Natasha is leaning back in her chair, chewing on her thoughts.  “The serum _did_ allow you to be frozen for 70 years.  I suppose they could have done something similar with him.  Bring the Winter Soldier out of hibernation for an assignment.  Put him back when he’s done. I can’t believe that almost makes sense,” she sips her coffee, a hint of amusement on her lips.

She puts her mug on the table. “Alright.  Let’s say I believe you.  The Winter Soldier is the famed James Buchanan Barnes.  What’s to say there’s anything of Bucky left in him?  I don’t think you should get your hopes up that you’ll be able to save him.  We might still have to…” she pauses, trying to actually phrase this as sensitively as she can manage.  “Stop him.”

Steve let’s out a heavy exhale. “You have to let me try.”

“Fine.  If we cross paths with him again, Clint and I will do crowd control.  But if people start dying because we haven’t taken him out of play-,”

Steve cuts her off.  “That will be on me.”  He drains his glass.  “I won’t let anyone else die.  People start dying you can step in.  But it won’t come to that.”  He hopes it more than he believes it.

“Alright,” Nat resigns.  “Well, I’m wiped.  Shower is down the hall from your room.  I trust you can find it.  It’s the one with the bed in it.  Help yourself to whatever you need.”  She puts her mug in the sink.  “Coming, Clint?" 

“Yeah, I’ll be up in a minute.”  He doesn’t move from his spot on the counter, just takes another sip from his mug.  He waits until he hears the door upstairs close.

“Don’t think she doesn’t mean well.  She just sees the world in black and white.  But you know if your roles were reversed, if it was me she was trying to save, she’d be relying on you to be her link to reality.  To make sure she didn’t become reckless; make the stakes too high.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair.  “I would do anything for Buck.  I don’t want innocent lives to be the price to get him back though.” 

“I know, Steve.”  Clint adds his mug to the sink before jumping lightly from the counter.  He clasps Steve’s shoulder firmly, “If Buck’s still in there, we’re going to do what we can to get him back.”

“Thanks.”

Clint pats his shoulder before turning to follow Nat to bed.

Steve sits at the table for another minute before refilling his glass and heading to rinse off the day.


	6. Chapter 6

The hot water feels good on Steve’s skin.  He lets it pour down on him for a few moments, soaking his hair through, before he even lifts a finger to start washing. He lathers up his hair.  The shampoo smells like pine needles and mint.  Bucky’s grey eyes and long brown hair swim into view in his mind’s eye.  What Steve wouldn’t do to be able to wipe away the pain in those eyes and to run his fingers through that hair.  Rinse it clean.  Just touch Buck again.

Steve scrubs the suds from his hair before rubbing the bar of soap across his body.  He pauses as he passes the bar up and down his left arm.  What had happened to Buck’s arm that they’d replaced it with a metal one?  Had it been irreparably damaged in the fall?  Or had they purposefully removed it to give him an iron fist?  The thought raises bile in the back of his throat, and he leans against the tiled wall, swallowing hard to not vomit right there in the shower.

The feeling passes.  He collects lather in his hands and soaps up his cock and runs his hands gently up and down his crack, doing his best to wash away the bit of slick that had escaped him.

Steve rinses the last of the bubbles away before shutting the water off.  He towels some of the water from his hair before half-heartedly drying the rest of his body.  He collects his soiled clothes from the bathroom floor, and heads for bed.

He digs around in one of the dressers until he finds a relatively new looking pair of boxers to pull on. For someone who never hosts guests, Nat sure has a lot of spare clothes.  He supposes it shouldn’t surprise him that much.  She’s always well prepared for anything.

He slips into bed, praying he doesn’t make too much of a mess during the night.  He hadn’t released too much slick after the run-in with Bucky, but his body isn’t exactly being predictable.

Steve is exhausted.  His back releases heavy into the mattress.  But every time Steve closes his eyes, he sees Bucky look down in confusion and then up with pain in his eyes.  He sees Bucky look through him, like he has never seen him before in his life and fully intends to kill him.  Sometimes he can’t see Bucky’s face at all through the mop of brown hair hiding his features.  He turns almost continuously, attempting to find any position that brings comfort.

“We have a few hours before the Stark convention,” Bucky calls from the couch. “Let me do that for you, you never quite get it straight.”

Steve breathes Bucky in as he knots his tie.

“Like I said, we have a few hours to kill.”

Bucky’s eyebrow shoots up. He tosses him to the bed and quickly climbs on top.  He takes Steve’s hardening cock into his mouth and groans.  Steve scrambles to his knees, Bucky firmly pushes his cheeks apart and laps up the slick dripping between them.  Steve gasps as Bucky’s tongue flicks over his entrance.

He’s back on his back.  Bucky fills him up.  Presses kisses into Steve’s neck and shoulders as he bottoms out.  
  
“Faster, Buck.” 

“What’s the rush, love.  Now back on your knees.”

Bucky mounts him and sinks his length back in.  He thrusts into him, slowly at first, but picking up speed.  As Bucky’s knot begins to form, Steve instinctively tilts his head to the left, baring as much of his neck to his alpha as he can.  Bucky grabs a handful of Steve’s hair in his left hand.  The grip is too tight. Steve can hear metallic whirring and clicking by his ear.  Bucky yanks his head even further to the side.  
  
“Ow!  Bucky, you’re hurting me!”  
  
“Who the hell is _Bucky_?” 

Bucky’s knot catches on Steve’s entrance, making Steve cry out.  “Please mark me, Bucky.”

“Who _are you_?”

He’s pounding into Steve _hard_.  The hold he has on Steve’s hair is still too rough, his neck craned at an unnatural angle.  The arm never stops whirring even though it’s not moving.

The rest of Bucky’s knot swells into place.  His head is suddenly freed of its metal vice.  Steve relaxes into Bucky’s warm body, savors the knot.  
  
And then that metal arm whirs to life and drives a knife into his stomach.

The pain is hot and piercing.  Steve can feel his blood gushing from him.  Soaking the bed around him.  But nothing could ever hurt as much as seeing that it’s Bucky holding that knife.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve wakes with a start. He sits upright and immediately retches. He’s grateful nothing but bile comes up. Then he notices he’s sitting in a large pool of slick.

“Aw, shit!”  He clambers out of bed as carefully as he can manage; trying not to get oil anywhere it isn’t already.

His first instinct is to ball the sheets up, but he realizes he doesn’t know where Natasha’s laundry room is, and he’s not going to go wandering around her house in the middle of the night. So he soaks up what oil he can with his towel before going to the bathroom to clean himself up.

Steve drops the dirty towel to the floor, his soaked shorts on top, and turns the shower on. He’s suddenly aware of how stiff his body is.  He’s cramping and feels chilled.  He climbs into the shower as the room fills with steam and lets the hot water flow over him.

He lathers up his hands and soaps the slick from his skin.  Steve pulls his cheeks apart to let the water rinse him clean.  The combination of the pull on his rim and the water from the showerhead on his sensitive skin sends a new chill through him. He closes his eyes and lets the water caress him as his already half-hard cock fills.

Steve tries to remember back to his first heat.  He’d been a late bloomer. Most people presented between the ages of 13 and 15, so when he hadn’t presented by his 16th birthday, he’d assumed he just wouldn’t.  Bucky had had his first rut when he was 15, and Steve remembers doing everything he could to help him through it.  So when Steve _finally_ presented when he was 18, Bucky was more than eager to return the favor.

 

***  
1936 

Steve wakes up in a cold sweat. He shudders, and tries to pull the blankets up to his chin, but Bucky is sprawled on his back on top of them, not a stitch on him.  Steve notes Buck’s body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the summer heat as he tries desperately to wrestle an extra inch of sheets out from under Bucky’s large form.

Bucky grumbles softly in his sleep. “Steeeevie, stop it.”

Steve just whines in reply. He’s doubled over in the fetal position shivering under the bit of sheet he’s got, trying to cope with the sharp pain in his abdomen.  It comes and goes in waves and he thinks he might puke if it doesn’t subside soon.

Buck opens one eye and is immediately awake.  The combination of seeing Steve balled up in pain, and the overwhelming smell of hot apple pie, cinnamon, and the remnants of fireworks coming off him has Bucky sitting bolt upright, pulling the blankets out from under himself to cover Steve’s tiny, freezing body.

“Stevie, what’s wrong?! Are you sick?”

“I don’t know, Buck. I’m cold, it feels like someone’s punching me in the gut repeatedly with a knife, and I think I’m going to retch,” Steve offers weakly.

“Well, you don’t _smell_ sick,” Buck presses a kiss into Steve’s damp hair before climbing out of bed.  “I’m going to grab you some tea and a bucket, alright, love?  Anything else you want while I’m up?”

Steve whimpers gratefully in reply.

Buck returns in a few moments with a mug of peppermint tea to settle Steve’s stomach, and a medium sized mixing bowl. He places the bowl on the floor on Steve’s side of the bed, the tea on his bedside table, before climbing back under the covers.

“C’mere, Stevie. Let me warm you up, baby.” He pulls Steve’s skinny, bony body into his.  Not disturbing his shape, just bringing him in close.  He wraps himself firmly around Steve, passing body heat through his chest and stomach, folding strong arms around Steve’s little form.

Bucky nuzzles his nose into the nape of Steve’s neck and presses little kisses there.  “It’s too bad you’re feeling sick.  You smell good enough to eat.”

Steve wiggles back against him a little, settling into the warm cocoon of Buck’s body.  Bucky’s cock responds.  He can’t help it, what with Steve smelling as irresistible as he does and rubbing against him like that.

“You smell pretty good yourself, Buck. But you always do,” Steve says softly. Bucky’s scent of strong coffee, tobacco, and fresh sheets settles over Steve.  Even though he’s still in pain, he feels comfortable and safe.

Steve feels a rush of warm fluid between his cheeks.

“Hey!” he shoves a sharp elbow into Buck’s ribs.  “I’m not feeling well. Control yourself, Buck.”  
  
“Huh?!” Buck props himself up on an elbow and massages the spot Steve struck him, confused.  “What are you going on about?  I’m not making any advances here.  You know I get a little hard when you wiggle against me and all, but I’m behaving myself.”

“You are not! You just came on me. I felt it!”

“I did not!” Bucky’s eyes are wide with confusion and hurt at the accusation.  “What are you going on abo-“ He looks down to see a small puddle of oil pooling between them.

“Oh, Stevie,” his voice is full of sudden understanding, but there’s a tremor of lust underneath. “Sweetheart, you’re, uh…” he chuckles, “You’re in heat.” 

“I’m… what?!”  Steve, rolls over to face Buck, rolling through the wet spot, eyes wide with horror as he sees the mess he’s made.

“You’re an omega, Stevie,” Buck kisses his forehead.  “Oh, don’t look so surprised.  You’re a little late, but we always thought you would be if you ever presented.”

Steve can’t hide the disgust on his face as he smears his fingers through the slick on the sheets. “Ugh, why does this have to be so gross though?”

“You’re joking, right?  Your slick smells amazing.” Buck runs a finger through the puddle and slowly licks it off, savoring it.  He groans, “God, and it tastes even better.”

Steve can see Buck’s lust-blown pupils. He can smell his dark roast darken and grow more bitter.  The scent of cigarettes becomes a little more potent.

“You’re sweet, Buck. And gross,” Steve chides, “But sweet. I’m going to go clean up.” He climbs out of bed. As he stands, he’s relieved to find the cramping has mostly stopped.

Steve let’s the warm water trickle over him.  He scrubs the slick from his body best he can, but small waves of it keep gushing from him and dripping down his legs.  Every time it does, his already hard cock pulses in an attempt to fill a little more. With a little lather in his hand he strokes himself, starting slowly and then speeding up.  Steve is so hard it hurts.  He braces himself against the shower wall with one hand, the other one working his throbbing cock frantically.  He’s never wanted to get off so badly in his life.  He whimpers as his efforts aren’t quite enough. Steve desperately wants to be filled up. He needs it so badly, to have Bucky in him.

Bucky’s laying on the bed doing his best to not touch himself.  He’s pretty sure if he starts, he’ll send himself into an early rut and not be able to stop. And Steve needs him to be in control of himself right now.

“Uh… Buck?”  Steve calls from the shower, “I could use some help.”

Bucky sits up, the hair on the back of his neck raising a little in response to the panic in Steve’s voice. He heads to the bathroom quickly. “What do you need, love?”

He walks in to find Steve on his hands and knees in the bathtub, slick flowing steadily from him, one hand gripping his cock so hard the head is starting to purple.

“Oh, Stevie.” Buck gulps in air, pupils wide. “Fuck, Steve.  I’m trying really hard to control myself, but…”

“Don’t.  Come here and _help_ me.”

Bucky doesn’t need to be asked twice. He crosses the small bathroom in a single step and climbs into the tub with Steve.  “What do you need, babe?”  He can’t keep his hands off him, just letting them pass gently over his wet skin.

Steve looks over his shoulder at him, desperation in his eyes.  “I want you in me, Buck.  I _need_ you in me.”  He adds with a little more emphasis, “ _Now_.”

Bucky chuckles, “ _That_ I can do.  I’m still going to prep you though.  Now let go of your dick and support yourself properly.  You look like you’re trying to rip it off.”

Steve immediately does as he’s told, releasing the death grip he has on himself and putting his hand down on the floor of the tub with the other one.

Bucky wastes no time in positioning himself on his knees behind Steve.  He gently bites each of Steve’s little butt cheeks before using his hands to push them apart.  Steve is moaning before Bucky’s even started lapping at his entrance.

Bucky circles his tongue around Steve’s rim until the muscle starts to relax.  He moans happily as he dips his tongue into Steve’s warmth, savoring the taste of sweet spices.  Steve let’s out a frustrated sound and pushes himself closer to Buck, trying to get Bucky’s tongue as deep into him as he can manage.  Bucky pulls back and chuckles.

“Buuuuuck,” Steve moans in anguish.

“Shhh, honey. The neighbors will hear you.” Bucky replaces his tongue with a finger, sliding it in and out slowly before adding a second one.

Steve is rocking back, fucking himself on Bucky’s fingers.  “More, Buck, please, _more_.”

Bucky scissors his fingers before adding a third, stroking himself slowly with his spare hand. “Fuck, Stevie. You’re so beautiful like this. I’ve seen you seriously turned on before, but never quite so desperate.  I can’t fucking take it.”

“I need you in me, Buck. Please. Please.”  Steve’s resting on his forearms, forehead on his hands, pleading as he presents himself as best he can for his alpha.

Bucky can’t take it anymore. He’d normally spend a few more minutes working three fingers in Steve, add a fourth for another few strokes before even thinking about trying to mount him, but his inner alpha hears Steve’s begging and he can’t hold back any longer.

“Alright, but we’re going slow, okay?” Bucky uses some of Steve’s slick to lube himself up.  He lines himself up with Steve’s entrance.  “You tell me if it’s too much.”

Steve just groans with frustration and urgency.

Bucky pushes into Steve’s hot hole. Fuck he’s hot. And wet.  He pauses every inch to let Steve breathe and adjust before pushing in a little further.  “You still okay?”

“Mmmmmm,” Steve exhales.

Bucky bottoms out and stills. He lets his hands roam Steve’s little body.  He pulls Steve’s hips flush with his, moving his hands up over his hips, over his bony ribs, down around his chest where he pinches Steve’s nipples gently between two fingers. Steve lifts his head and moans, pushing back on Buck a little.

“Yeah?” Bucky muses, rubbing his fingers together a little more, watching Steve arch beneath him. 

“Fuck, Buck. Please, just _fuck_ me already.”  
  
Bucky chuckles softly, he presses gentle kisses into the back of Steve’s neck and between his very visible shoulder blades, “Alright, sweetheart.”

Bucky sits up on his knees, hands on Steve’s hips as he slowly pulls his length out before even more slowly pushing his way back in.  He speeds up with each thrust until Steve’s frustrated grunts are replaced with sedated moans. Bucky hammers into Steve hard, his knees aching against the unyielding tub, head thrown back, eyes clenched tight until Steve has stopped pushing back to meet his thrusts.

Bucky looks down to see Steve’s got his hand clenched between his teeth to quiet the sweet noises he’s making. Blond hair soaked and dripping, he looks like he might be sobbing quietly but it’s hard to tell with all the water on his face.

“Fuuuck, I want to come, Buck. I’m so close.  I need to come.  I’m dying here,” Steve chokes out.

Buck slows just a touch so he can wrap one hand around Steve’s still-purple cock.  “Come for me, beautiful.  You can do it.”

Buck can feel his knot starting to form as he thrusts into Steve, stroking him firmly in time.  As his knot starts to work its way into place Steve lets out a muted yelp and comes hot in his hand.

“Good timing,” Bucky growls low as he tries to gain control over himself again.  He grabs the base of his own cock firmly as he pulls himself from Steve before his knot can take proper hold.

“No, Buck, please,” Steve pants breathless from the shower floor, “I want your knot, pleasepleaseplease, I want your knot.”

Bucky massages his freed knot gently, “Nuh-uh Stevie.  I’ve never knotted you before.  You don’t think you can take the full girth of it, remember?  And I’m _certainly_ not knotting you without protection while you’re in heat.”  His voice is low and full of wanting though.  It betrays how badly he would prefer to be thrusting his knot deep into Steve than dealing with the sharp ache of it with his own hand.  
  
Steve doesn’t try to hide his annoyance, “I probably wouldn’t even get pregnant, Buck.  I’m sick all the time. My body wouldn’t be able to take it.”  
  
“ _Exactly_ , Steve. Your body wouldn’t be able to take it. And how would you explain that to people if you did?  The answer’s no. We’ll grab some condoms tomorrow and then we can talk about it.”

Steve sighs, accepting defeat as the now lukewarm water trickles down on him.

***

Steve comes back from the memory, on his knees, hot water pouring down his back as he tries desperately to rock back on two of his own fingers, his cock clenched tight in his left hand. He imagines they’re Bucky’s fingers he’s sitting on.  Imagines Buck is just behind him, whispering sweet nothings to him about how good he looks and smells when he’s like this as he tries to control his own alpha climbing up within him. He manages to get his fingers deep enough to graze that sweet spot inside him as he cranes his neck to the side, presenting for an absent Bucky to mark him.  In his mind’s eye, Buck does though; Bucky nuzzles that space before biting down hard, and Steve can feel his body finally convulse, hot white streaks streaming from his cock as he finally finds his release.

He doesn’t quite feel satisfied – he knows he won’t all week – but he basks in the momentary afterglow as he relaxes against the back of the tub and lets the feeling carry him to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

There’s a sharp knock on the bathroom door.  It wakes Steve with a start. His hard cock is in one hand. He tries to remember what he’d been dreaming about.  He knows Bucky was there, was helping him, but he doesn’t remember any other details. 

“Yeah?” he calls. He scrambles to his feet, gives his body a last rinse off, making sure to get as much of the fresh slick off him as possible, before shutting off the cold shower.

He steps, soaking from the tub and wraps a clean towel around his waist not bothering to dry himself before opening the bathroom door. 

Clint’s holding a mug of coffee and leaning against the hall wall.  Steve can’t tell if he finds the scent jarring or soothing this morning, but it leaves him feeling odd.

“You alright, Steve?” Clint looks like he already knows the answer.

“Uh, I’ve been better.”  
  
“Right.  Well, I’m afraid you’ve gotta go,” he takes a sip of his coffee, face blank but eyes betraying a little sympathy.  “Nat’s upstairs and she’s basically crawling up the walls.”  
  
“Oh, God.  I’m so sorry.” Steve blushes and it spreads from his cheeks to the tops of his ears, and down his neck to the top of his chest.

“Not your fault, man. She says you can take whatever you need from your room, spare clothes and whatnot, but that you should take the truck and go stay in a hotel room for a few days.  Check in often, alright?”

“Right.  Really, I’m so sorry, Clint.  Is there anything I can do?” Steve shuffles his feet uncomfortably.

“Just go take care of yourself and let us know you’re okay.”

“Will she be alright?”

“It’s not her you should be worried about,” Clint gives him a tired half smile, and takes another sip of his coffee as he heads back upstairs.  “It’s gonna be a rough few days…” he mutters.

Steve hurries back to the guest room. The bed has already been stripped. Clint must have thrown the sheets in the laundry.  Or burned them. He makes a mental note to bring Nat a new set of sheets next time he sees her.

He dries himself and picks out some clean clothes from the drawers.  Steve’s surprised to find they’re all his size, like Nat has stocked this room specifically for him. He grabs a week’s worth of clothes and packs them into a duffel he finds in the closet.  Steve returns to the washroom to collect some necessary toiletries and grabs his shield before letting himself out.

He pulls the visor of his cap down a little, and pulls the hood of his sweater up over it to hide his face best he can as he starts the truck up and pulls out of Natasha’s long driveway.

***

Steve checks into the second motel he finds under the name Grant Smith.  He tosses the duffel to the floor near the bed, places his shield on the little dining table, and unpacks some bottled water and groceries he’d picked up on his way into the mini-fridge.

Now that he’s not distracted with driving, he’s acutely aware of how hard his cock is and how wet he is. He palms himself through his jeans and sighs.  He might as well make himself comfortable before it gets too bad.

He double checks that the blinds are pulled closed before he pulls a new knot from one of the grocery bags. The checkout clerk had made some comment like, “Your kid just gone into heat, eh?” and given him a look that said ‘good luck, man.’  Steve had just grimaced in response to the beta while keeping an eye on all the alphas in the line behind him giving him side-eye.  He was pretty sure the only reason none of them had approached him was because he had at least fifty pounds on them.

Steve pulls the sheets back, grabs a few towels from the bathroom and stacks them in the middle of the bed. He palms himself through his pants again, the insatiable heat climbing his spine, before taking them off and leaving them in a heap on his floor.  He drops his shorts on top and climbs into bed making sure the knot is within reach. Steve repositions the pillows behind him, leaning against the head of the bed.  His cock is already standing at attention, bobbing lightly, a small wet spot starting where it curves back and leans against his shirt. He takes his tee off, adding it to the pile.  He dips three fingers into the steady supply of slick leaking from him and smears it across his fingers and palm.  Steve wraps his hand around his cock, trying not to grip himself too hard.  It will be a _really_ painful week if he’s too rough on himself.

He lets his head fall back, mouth fall open as he strokes himself slowly.  It’s been so long since he did this: hole up for a whole week trying to satisfy himself.  And usually Bucky had been there to help.  Only when Bucky had been sent off to join the 107th and Steve had been back in Brooklyn did he have to take care of business on his own.

Steve tries to pretend Bucky is there with him now.  He bends his knees and spreads his legs open so he can reach a finger between his legs to coax his tight rim to relax.  It easily accepts his first finger, so he adds a second; scissoring them gently before adding a third. It’s not nearly enough to give him the full feeling he’s craving, so he grabs the knot. Steve repositions himself on his knees, hovering above it.  He rubs his slick over the knot, even though it’s probably not necessary, before lowering himself down on to it.  He gasps gently as he inches it into his hot hole.  The girth of it feels amazing.  It’s not as big as Bucky’s knot, but much more satisfying than anything Steve could accomplish with just his fingers.  He braces himself with one hand as he starts to fuck himself with the toy.

He starts slowly, dragging it in and out, picking up speed as he relaxes around it until he’s pounding it into himself relentlessly.  He hammers it into his prostate over and over and over until he can feel his body drawing tight. His pace falters as streaks of cum wet the towels beneath him.  Steve collapses, leaving the knot in place, enjoying the fullness and temporary reprieve from his seemingly never-ending need to be fucked.

It’s only a few moments before his cock starts to harden again and he can feel the desire to be taken take hold again. _It’s going to be a long week_ , Steve thinks as he wipes sweat from his brow. He’s going to try to fuck himself dry, one way or the other.


	9. Chapter 9

It’s Steve’s 4th day in the motel room.  He’s barely seen daylight in that time, and he couldn’t possibly put a number on how many times he’s fucked himself to orgasm on that knot. 

He’s feeling stable enough this morning that when housekeeping knocks on his door he lets them in to do their work before he blushes and excuses himself to go grab something from the vending machine by the lobby while they clean up his mess.  When he returns he’s relieved to find the place no longer smells like stale apple pie and sex.  Fresh towels and sheets are going to be nice after three days of being too horny to care about the cleanliness of his existence. 

Steve spends the afternoon catching up with Nat and Clint over the phone.  So far they know that Hydra infiltrated SHIELD right at its start and recently made it known. They were still trying to sort through who was Hydra and who could be trusted: Brock Rumlow, Hydra; nurse across the hall from Steve’s apartment, SHIELD agent.

Natasha fills Steve in on what she’s managed to find out about the Winter Soldier.  She’s pretty sure he was created as a Hydra weapon.  She wasn’t sure yet what medical and psychological procedures had been used on Bucky in the process, but she promises to look into it.

When he finally crawls between fresh sheets, his brain is spinning.  He closes his eyes and cycles through the information he’s received that day.  He falls asleep, the faces of the SHIELD agents who have betrayed him, faces of friends who are as confused as he is, and metal arms scrolling through his mind’s eye.

“We have a few hours before the Stark convention,” Bucky calls from the couch.  “C’mere. 

Steve breathes Bucky in, he smells like protection and home.

Bucky tightens the tie in place, and tilts Steve’s chin up with two fingers.  He grazes his teeth gently across the skin of Steve’s neck as he mock-bites him.  He’s got a predatory look in his eye as he leans into Steve’s space, forcing him onto his back.

Steve blushes as Bucky works a finger into him.  Then a second.  Bucky pushes a third finger into him, making sure he's properly stretched open before lining himself up with Steve’s hole and slowly sinking into him.

Steve gasps, letting his head fall back to the pillow as Bucky bottoms out.

“Faster, Buck.”  He rolls his hips up to meet Bucky’s thrusts.

“What’s the rush, love?”  Bucky presses a chaste kiss to Steve’s lips, smiling down at him, giving him a moment to catch his breath.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“Who _are_ you?”  Bucky’s entire body stills.  He gazes right through him, no recognition in his eyes.  The only movement is that metal hand wrapping itself firmly around Steve’s throat, keeping Steve a full arms-length away, immobile in that steel grip, unable to breathe.

Steve panics.  _It’s a dream.  Just breathe.  You can breathe.  It’s a dream._

Steve tries desperately to suck in air and he can’t.  He wakes with a start, blinking up at the ceiling but unable to move.  He notices where the mattress dips under the weight of the man straddling him.  He feels the cold metal of Bucky’s hand pressed tight against his neck. He grasps at Bucky’s hands with his own, trying to loosen the grip even a little.

“Bucky, please.  You’re hurting me,” Steve manages to croak out.

Steve’s chest is on fire from the lack of oxygen.  His eyes beg Bucky to release him. He can feel a wave of oily slick gush from him.  Bucky’s grip falters.

Steve sucks in air.  “Please, Buck.  You _know_ me.  I’m your _mate_.”

Bucky’s eyes are wild.  Steve has never seen Bucky like this before.  The metal hand tightens around his neck again as his right fist makes contact with Steve’s jaw.

Bucky punctuates each blow. “You’re. My. Mission.”

If this is how Steve is going to die, he’s going to try to appreciate the small things.  Like that he has Bucky on top of him even though he never imagined he’d see him again.  And that he’s surrounded by what is left of his old scent.  Steve does his best to inhale deeply when he can get in a breath, so he can take in that black coffee smell.  It mixes with the taste of blood in his mouth.  Steve’s vision starts to blur at the edges.  He can’t tell if he’s imagining the scent of pine needles or if it’s actually there underneath the smell of leather and metal.  He can feel another large wave of slick release from him as Bucky’s grey eyes swim in and out of focus.

Steve is confused.  He can breathe again.  Fists have stopped making contact with his face and chest.  He opens his eyes, and Bucky’s leaning over him, panting. His mouth is parted in disbelief and his grey eyes are wide.

“…Stevie?”

“Buck?”  Steve’s heart fills.

Bucky leans back down over Steve, scenting the air around him.  Steve gingerly raises a single hand.  He lets his fingertips run gently along Bucky’s hair and is surprised when Bucky leans into his touch.

Bucky closes his eyes as Steve continues running gentle fingers through his hair.  “I’m so sorry, Stevie,” he whispers.

“Shhhh…” Steve presses a simple, chaste kiss against Bucky’s lips.

Bucky moves off Steve and helps him sit up.  He tucks his face into Steve’s neck, breathing him in.  Steve can feel more oil pulse from him.

“Did you always smell this good?”

Steve chuckles, blushing all over.  “Well, I’m sort of still in heat…”

Bucky sounds like the breath has been punched out of him.  “Well, that explains why I want to devour you.”

Steve places light kisses along Bucky’s collarbone, and across his neck.  Steve glances up at Bucky through thick lashes as he hovers his hand just over the growing bulge in Bucky’s pants.  Bucky rolls his hips up to gently meet Steve’s hand.  Steve rubs his hand over Bucky, increasing the pressure with every pass.  Bucky lets out a low groan.

Steve guides Bucky to the edge of the bed, kneeling between his legs.  He undoes Bucky’s belt and unzips his pants, pulling Bucky’s length free of his boxers.  He’s waited this long to taste Bucky again, he doesn’t have the time to totally rid him of his pants.

Steve presses his tongue firmly against the head of Bucky’s hard cock, lapping up the bead of precome gathered there.  Bucky is leaning back on his elbows, watching him with wide, lust-blown eyes.  Steve holds Bucky’s eye contact as he swallows all of him down in one motion.  Steve is rewarded with a gasp of surprise followed by a guttural moan.  He hollows his cheeks as he slowly drags his lips back up Bucky’s length.  Steve takes hold of the base of Bucky’s cock and holds it steady as he licks and sucks at the head.  Bucky’s head tips back, eyes closed, as Steve takes Bucky deep into his mouth again.

“Fuck, Stevie,” Bucky already sounds wrecked.  “That feels amazing, but I don’t want to come like this. I want to be in you.”

Steve slowly pulls off of Bucky, sucking gently at his tip, savoring the familiar taste of him against his tongue, before releasing him.  
  
“Fuck, I want that.  I’ve missed you, Buck.”  
  
Buck leans down to help Steve back onto the bed.  Steve doesn’t budge from where he is on his knees.  He wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling him close.  He presses a gentle kiss to his lips.  He can feel Bucky’s breath hot on his lips as he returns the kiss.  Bucky’s strong arms rest heavy on Steve’s shoulders as their lips interlock.  Steve teases gently at Bucky’s lips with his tongue, which part naturally in response.  Bucky’s tongue darts into Steve’s mouth and Steve’s relieved that Bucky tastes almost exactly the same as he had 70 years earlier.  Steve pulls Bucky in for a deep kiss, exploring Buck’s mouth, eager to taste black coffee and tobacco on his tongue again.  Bucky goes rigid against him.  His lips stop mirroring Steve’s movements and his metal hand is no longer resting gently against Steve’s collar bone, but is fastened firmly around his throat.

Steve can feel his eyes welling from the shock of it.  He’s surprised to be able to breathe still, the hand at his throat not closed tight.  Just firm enough to hold Steve at arms-length on his knees.

Bucky’s eyes dart back and forth as he mutters to himself. “32557038…”  His eyes are full of confusion, fear and panic.  “But I _know_ you.  I don’t know my orders.  What are my orders?”

He backhands Steve with his right hand and Steve’s world goes dark.

When Steve comes to, Bucky is gone.  Steve crawls into bed, pressing his face into the sheets desperately searching for any patch that smells like Bucky.  He finds a corner of the comforter that smells faintly of tobacco, moist dirt and leather, which he rests his cheek on as he fights the tears welling in his eyes, and tries to breathe through the pain in his chest. Tears spill hot down his cheeks, and he lets out a ragged sob as he mourns his loss of Bucky for what feels like the millionth time.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve’s been at the motel for a full week when he finally stops producing oil.  He manages a full day without discharging any slick, so he packs up his bag and texts Nat to let her know he’ll be back in the morning.

Steve orders a pizza to the room and lies back on the bed, flipping through channels while he waits.

There’s a knock at the door.  Steve grabs his wallet from the bedside table and starts rifling through it to find some change for a tip.  He swings the door wide. Bucky’s tall form is filling the doorway.  Steve quickly drops to his knees, grabbing his shield from near the door and tucking most of his large body behind it.

When there’s no attack, Steve peeks over the edge of the shield.  Bucky’s grey eyes are staring back at him.  He doesn’t move.  Doesn’t speak.  Steve drops the shield slightly as he straightens up.

Steve raises both hands in front of him.  “I don’t care who sent you.  I’m not going to hurt you, Bucky.  I can’t fight you.  I won’t fight you.  You’re my mate.” Steve lowers the shield slowly, left hand still raised in surrender, being careful to not make any sudden movements.  He gives the shield a gentle push and lets it roll slowly across the room where it wobbles and settles out of reach.

Bucky’s eyes flicker between Steve and the shield. 

“Steve.”  Bucky’s voice comes low and monotone.  “You are Steven Grant Rogers.  I know you.  We were friends once.”  His eyebrows furrow as he digs for a thought.  “More.”

Steve’s jaw is slack.  He can’t find words, so he steps aside.  Bucky hesitates before stepping stiffly into the room.

Steve closes the door behind him.  He can smell Bucky’s scent linger in the air.  It’s the darkest Steve’s smelled it.  He smells like thick coffee with grinds in the dregs, warm leather, and locked-up brakes.  The scent makes Steve want to rub his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck, adding his sweet mix to Bucky’s rich tones.  Instead, Steve maintains his distance from Bucky, watching him pace the room.

After a few moments of silence, Steve finally speaks.  
  
“Buck.  I’m thrilled you’re here,” he pauses.  Bucky is staring at him, eyes wide and unblinking.  “But _why_ are you here?” _And why aren’t you trying to kill me?_ he thinks to himself.

Bucky looks down before resuming intense eye contact.  “I don’t know.”  He examines his left hand closely.  “I went for my orders.  They wiped me.  They told me to kill you.  The world is _depending_ on it.  But when I woke up I could smell…  I could smell _you_.  And I _remember_ , but I don’t know _what_ I remember.”

Bucky looks like he might burst into frustrated tears.  Like his skin is the only thing keeping him from ripping at the seams.  Steve wants to hold him, wants to take all the pain and confusion from him.  But he’s terrified he’ll set him off again.

 _They wiped you?_ Steve’s blood is boiling.  Hydra had emptied Bucky out and tried to replace him somehow?

“And I… I feel _strange._ Too warm; I can’t think straight; the world is too loud, too bright; everything smells pungent and sickly sweet.”  Bucky scents the air.  His pupils dilate but his shoulders slump a little and he appears to relax a bit.  “Everything except you.”  He takes a step towards Steve, scenting the air again.  “You smell sweet, but it doesn’t make my head spin like I’m going to retch.”

Bucky takes another step into Steve’s space.  Steve holds himself perfectly still.  He wants to reach out and run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, but he forces himself to keep his hands in stiff fists by his sides.  Bucky leans forward, sniffing Steve’s neck.  Steve feels a shiver shoot up his spine as Bucky’s exhale brushes gently across his skin.

Bucky nuzzles his face in the crook of Steve’s neck and Steve isn’t sure how he’s still standing.  He wraps his arms gently but firmly around Bucky’s back, holding him close but not tight.  He can feel Bucky melt into the touch.  He can also feel Bucky’s cock, rigid against his hip.  Bucky rocks forward gently and lets out a surprised moan at the friction.

Steve takes a half step back without breaking off the embrace.  He doesn’t want to do anything that could trigger Bucky to revert back to kill mode.  Bucky whines, chasing the lost contact.

“I _need._ I didn’t know _what_ I needed, but that’s…” Bucky groans as he grinds against Steve’s leg.  “I’ve needed this for _days_.”  He nips gently just above Steve’s collarbone.

For _days_?  Bucky’s been hard and wanting _for days_?  Just the thought of it makes Steve want to drop to his knees to take care of his poor alpha.

“I just don’t know if this is a good idea right now, Buck?”  Steve’s voice is strained.  He can feel his own cock swelling in his jeans as Bucky ruts against him.  His senses are swimming in Bucky’s rich aroma, and his inner omega is begging to present for his alpha. 

“Please, Stevie.  _Please_.”  Buck begs, rolling his hips against Steve.  He backs Steve to the wall, hands pressed firmly against it on either side of Steve’s head.  He’s looking down at Steve, a predatory glint in his eyes.

There’s a knock at the door.  Steve had forgotten about the pizza he ordered but he’s relieved for an excuse to step away from Bucky and his intoxicating scent.  It buys him a moment to think.  He ducks under Bucky’s arm to pay for his pizza.  Steve turns back to find Bucky is standing directly behind him.  Bucky takes the pizza from him, tossing it gently on the table.  He backs Steve against the dresser before placing his hands on the backs of Steve’s thighs and lifting him easily to sit on top of the drawers.

Bucky licks a slow path from Steve’s collarbone to just under his jaw before starting to suck a small bruise into Steve’s neck.  Steve gasps, _fuck that feels good._ He really doesn’t want him to stop, but he presses himself away from Bucky gently, hands on his shoulders.

“Buck, Buck stop,” Steve says, breathless.

Bucky looks wounded, but stops immediately.  “Do you not?  Do we not?” Bucky’s face scrunches up as he searches for a distant memory.  “I thought I remembered that we…”

“We did,” Steve cuts him off.  The past tense of the statement pains him, but he doesn’t know what else to say.  “I just, I set you off somehow last time you were here.  I don’t know what I did and I just don’t want to trigger you again.”  Steve exhales the truth in one long jumble.

“You set me off?”  Bucky’s brows furrow in concentration.  “I was _here_?”

“You don’t remember?”  Steve is even more certain sex is a terrible idea right now.  “I was, I was going down on you and you wanted to fuck me, and then you flipped on me, knocked me out, and left.”

“I hurt you?”  Bucky glares at his hands like he wants to rip them from his body. 

“It wasn’t _you_ , Buck, it was what they made you.”  Steve runs his hands reassuringly along Bucky’s shoulders and upper arms.  “I know it wasn’t you.  I just don’t know what triggered it and I don’t want to accidentally do it again.” 

“Okay.”  Bucky leans his forehead against Steve’s shoulder in resignation.  “How do I get rid of this need?  I feel like I’m going to _explode_.”  He bites his lower lip.

Steve chews on the inside of his cheek as he thinks.

“What if you do whatever you want to do to me, and I won’t do anything unless you ask for it?  I won’t touch you or kiss you or anything unless you want and are expecting it.”

Bucky looks like he’s turning the idea over in his head.  “Okay.  But Steve,” his eyes are wild with panic, “You can’t let me go back there.  You can’t let them wipe me again.  You can’t.”  He’s started to shake and his eyes are shiny with tears.  “Don’t let them wipe me.  Don’t let them.  Do whatever it takes.  I can’t go back there.”

“Shhhh…” Steve hushes Bucky, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him in close.  “Whatever it takes.  Got it.  You’re not going anywhere, Buck.  I’ve got you.  ‘Til the end of the line.”

Bucky takes a few shaky breaths and steadies himself.  “Thank you,” he mutters into Steve’s neck.  “Can I taste you now?”  He nibbles gently at Steve’s throat.

Steve can feel blood rushing back to his groin.  “If that’s what you want.”  He can feel a pulse of electricity course through his body.

“That’s what I want.”  Bucky pulls at the hem of Steve’s shirt, working it up and over his head, tossing it to the floor.

He runs both hands across Steve’s shoulders and down his arms.  Back up his arms, down along his chest.  Steve shivers, Bucky’s metal arm cold against his skin.  Bucky takes a step back to let Steve get down from the dresser.  He stands back, waiting.

Steve unbuttons his jeans, stepping out of them and his boxers at the same time.  He climbs on to the bed, presenting for his alpha on all fours.  His inner omega sighs happily.  He wiggles his hips subtly from side to side, peeking cheekily over his shoulder out of habit.

Bucky is standing behind him, jaw slack, mouth parted.  He might as well be _drooling_.  He’s equal parts staring _at_ and _through_ him.  Steve can’t help feeling like Bucky is seeing him for the first time.  It makes him feel a little vulnerable.

Bucky pulls his shirt up and over his head.  Steve inhales sharply when he sees the scars running along his left side.  They connect his shoulder to his chest, as if the metal arm was soldered on to him.  As if it were molded into melted flesh.  Steve wants desperately to run his fingers along those scars.  To feel their texture under his skin.  To cover them in kisses.  But he keeps his hands planted firmly on the bed, gripping the duvet in his fists to keep them where they are.

Bucky climbs onto the bed behind Steve.  He runs his hands over the curves of Steve’s ass.  He places kisses on each cheek before pushing them apart to reveal Steve’s tight hole.  Steve’s moaning from the pulling sensations on his rim even before Bucky presses his tongue to him.  He wants more.  Wants to rock back and fuck himself on Bucky’s tongue, but he keeps himself still.  He’s going to take everything Bucky’s willing to give him.  Nothing more.

Bucky ruts against the bed while he laps at Steve’s rim.  The obscene noises Bucky’s making aren’t helping Steve’s resolve to keep perfectly still. 

Bucky sits back on his haunches, brushing his hair from his eyes.  He offers Steve a pair of fingers, which Steve sucks dutifully.  Bucky presses a kiss into Steve’s lower back.  Steve’s tongue drags slowly against them as Bucky pulls his fingers from Steve’s mouth, and uses them to circle Steve’s hole.  As Steve’s muscles start to relax, Bucky works the first finger in.  He pulls it out slowly before pushing it back in, repeating the motion a few times before adding a second finger.

Steve can feel a bit of oil release from him.  Bucky moans as Steve’s scent hits him, licking at the mess while scissoring his fingers.  “Fuck, Steve.  You smell so good.  I can’t take this anymore.”

Bucky pulls his fingers out and fumbles with his belt.  He rids himself of his pants before lining himself up with Steve’s entrance.  “You ready?”

Steve gives a curt nod.  Bucky pushes himself in a little faster than Steve’s used to.  It sends shivers up and down his body, and Steve bites his lip, savoring the warm burn.  Bucky takes half a moment to steady himself before he drags his length from Steve and slams it back in.  He sets a relentless pace and Steve is quickly seeing white.  He balls the sheets up in his hands, moaning into the mattress.

“Oh, fuck Bucky, yes, fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Steve’s slurring into the mattress as Bucky pounds into him.  Bucky changes the angle just slightly so that every thrust hits Steve’s prostate.  Steve curses every time Bucky hits his sweet spot.  His desire is coiling in his stomach and grabs root at the base of his spine.  It doesn’t build for long before Steve’s orgasm rips through him.  He squeezes his eyes shut tight as he comes untouched, ribbons of come streaking the sheets below.

Steve can barely think, but he can feel Bucky’s knot starting to form as Bucky fucks him through his orgasm.  As Bucky’s knot catches and swells into place, Steve tilts his head instinctively to one side.  Bucky grabs Steve’s hair with his metal hand.  Steve can feel Bucky’s pace falter for the first time.  His hips stutter.  Bucky closes his lips around his left forearm and lets out a long muffled groan as he fills Steve up and knots them together.  He collapses on top of Steve.

Steve turns his head to look at Bucky’s left arm.  His eyes fill with tears.  Bucky’s marks are gone.  Those perfectly stacked scars removed and replaced with steel.  A single tear escapes down Steve’s cheek.  Steve doubts Bucky even remembers the marks.

Bucky wraps his arms tight around Steve, nuzzling his face into the back of Steve’s neck.  “I love you, Stevie,” he mumbles. 

“I love you too, Buck.”  Steve melts into Bucky’s touch and let’s himself drift off, enjoying the fullness of Bucky’s knot.

Steve’s suddenly empty.  His back is cold.  He’s surrounded by mountains.  He turns and he knows what he’s going to see.  Bucky is falling away from him, face contorted in a silent scream.

Steve wakes, left arm clenched tight between his teeth.  He turns frantically in the bed. 

“Steve?  Stevie, what’s wrong?”  Bucky’s around him in an instant, pulling him in close.

Steve breathes in a long shaky breath; let’s out a slow, shaky exhale attempting to steady himself.  He presses his face into Bucky’s chest, breathing him in.  He smells like fresh coffee and new leather, tobacco, pine forest, and cold steel.  Steve takes another, steadier breath.

“Bad dream,” he mumbles against Bucky’s chest.

Bucky wraps his strong arms around him tighter. 

He presses a kiss against Steve’s temple and Steve softens against him.

“Shh, it’s okay.  I have those, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The final chapter!!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! Your kudos and comments give me life. I enjoyed both the writing process and the posting process and I love you all <3
> 
> I've already started writing Part 2. If you want to be notified when it goes up, please do subscribe to the Worlds Collide series.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ABO fic. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have loved writing it.
> 
> Extra big thanks to my friend RT who helped me figure out the fight sequence in Chapter 2. I had never written a fight scene before and it was HARD. I couldn't have done it without her.
> 
> Humongous thanks to my beta, [DangerousNotBroken!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/works) Go read her works and [yell at her](http://shennanigoats.tumblr.com) on tumblr! After all, she let me do this to you.
> 
> Please rant and rave at me in the comments or come [yell at me](http://graduategraduate.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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